Chapter 123 - A Half-Baked Magus (2)

As the earth heaves, the soldiers atop the walls turn their eyes toward a single point. Their gazes meet the god descended upon this ashen world—not a creation of human hands, but a god emerging from the dust, wholly and genuinely divine.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■—!!!

Basiliora's roar accompanies his arrival. The thunderous cry inspires awe in the soldiers and fear in the artificial Outer Gods, scattering dust in every direction. Even from atop the walls, every soldier must look up to take in the god's form. The instant they all see it—

KRRRRAAAK!!!

Basiliora's immense body moves toward the turtle-shaped Outer God that was charging the walls only moments before. In an instant, he begins coiling around its body.

■■■■■■—!

The artificial Outer God screams with all its might the moment those coils encircle it. Every soldier is spellbound. A battle between monsters that might have stepped out of myth and legend is unfolding before their eyes.

Some gape. Some stare in horror. Others watch the battle with awe in their eyes. But only for a moment.

■■■■■■■■■■■■—!!!!

Soon, the soldiers realize something. The sight before them is not a great clash of monsters from some magnificent myth.

It is simply a hunt.

CRRRUNCH!

The soldiers stare blankly ahead. The monster wrapped in the great god's coils is being shattered to pieces. The shell Philian could not pierce no matter how fiercely he attacked crumbles into fragments. The hands and feet that impaled countless knights and soldiers, driving them to despair, are all torn away, showering the earth with a rain of blood.

And without even managing a scream, the artificial Outer God—once such a merciless butcher—meets a pitiful end, every bone and every inch of its outer shell utterly ravaged.

Into that silence—

■■■■■■■■■■■■—!!!!

Basiliora's roar rings out in every direction. The very air vibrates, and awe spreads among the soldiers.

Awe they cannot conceal.

And then—

"... Marquis Pallatio."

Duke Comalon, utterly impassive until moments ago, frowns and gives a brief click of his tongue. At that signal—

■■■■■■■—!

The battle between Outer Gods begins—

No.

The battle between the genuine and the counterfeit.

####

Basiliora's enormous body weaves wildly among the artificial Outer Gods, ravaging them.

"Hah!"

At Alon's command, Seollang rushes in to aid Basiliora, darting among the artificial Outer Gods in bursts of golden light.

Everyone watches the battle straight out of myth in a daze.

Everyone except one man.

Philian Merkillan alone is looking elsewhere: at the man wearing a coat whose every strand of fur flutters as though alive, black mana surging through it. The man who called a god his sworn ally and brought him down to this earth.

The man who had once spouted outrageous nonsense, flaunting his own ignorance.

At that very moment—

'... Fifteen minutes left. No, fourteen now.'

Alon lets out a soft sigh. After checking on Basiliora as he weaves wildly among the Outer Gods, Alon looks down at the bracelet on his right wrist.

The Hand of the Wanderer he obtained from the fairy Tovet, and the White Hand of the Wanderer found in the Hermit's Hideout.

The symbol on the Salvation of the Wanderer, made by combining the two, is glowing red.

'The time limit really is a shame. Well, without this, I wouldn't even have dared summon him.'

The Ring of Calgunias's Pact could summon anyone it had subjugated and compel their absolute obedience. But it had one drawback: the stronger the subjugated being, the more mana summoning them required.

In other words, with Alon's mana, summoning Basiliora should normally have been impossible, unless he summoned only his spirit form.

Indeed, only someone on the level of a tower master would have enough mana to summon Basiliora. Even they would inevitably suffer mana depletion, so immense was the expenditure.

The ring containing Basiliora was effectively unusable—were it not for this Salvation of the Wanderer, which allowed any artifact to be used for exactly fifteen minutes without mana restrictions.

'Neither the pact ring nor the Salvation of the Wanderer was originally meant to be used at this point. They do have other uses later on, but... '

This was no game.

Finishing that brief reflection, Alon turns his attention from Basiliora's battle with the Outer Gods to Duke Comalon.

He had understood the duke to be fairly old...

Yet Comalon looks quite young. Had he not been standing among the Outer Gods, Alon might not have recognized him at first.

In his youthful guise, he looks no different from an ordinary noble. Even so, Alon remains on guard and quietly forms a hand seal.

At that moment—

"So you too are half-baked, just like me."

The words come from Duke Comalon, who had remained silent until now.

"... What?"

Alon's question is full of bewilderment. But Duke Comalon merely lets out a light sigh before asking a question of his own.

"I suspected as much from the moment I heard you had taken the Shadow Dragon's Egg. Seeing that bracelet on your wrist only strengthened my suspicions. What I don't understand is why you would try to stop me. Why?"

"..."

Alon keeps his mouth shut. Partly because he cannot understand what Duke Comalon is talking about, but also because he is struggling to decide how to interpret those words.

He spends a fleeting moment considering his reply, but—

"Well, there's no need to answer."

Duke Comalon does not give him even that fleeting moment.

"I don't know why you would interfere with me despite knowing of that atrocity—"

Then he continues.

"But if you stand in my way, I need only break you."

"!"

He forms a hand seal.

"Diffraction!"

"Initiation."

Alon also forms a seal to face him and utters a phrase.

The battle between mages begins.

####

Frankly, Alon was at a clear disadvantage in a battle between mages. Many things mattered in such a fight, but foremost among them was the speed at which one manifested magic.

Since Alon had to utter phrases and form hand seals, he was inevitably at a disadvantage. Yet he had thought this time would be different.

For reasons he did not understand, Duke Comalon used seals and phrases too.

With both men operating under the same restrictions, Alon had privately believed they faced equal risks.

He had miscalculated.

"Acceleration."

"!"

The instant he heard Duke Comalon's voice, Alon realized the duke was already right in front of him. He opened his mouth.

"Bitter Cold."

In an instant, the surrounding earth froze into permafrost, and cold began creeping up Duke Comalon's legs. But—

CRRRACK!

The duke broke through it without the slightest difficulty, then formed a seal with his left hand and recited his phrases.

"Unfolding, Dispersion, Full Bloom, Spiral."

"!"

Alon was appalled.

'That fast—!'

Essentially, phrases were used to twist the laws of magic, and each phrase required sufficient time to twist its corresponding law. Reciting another phrase while the previous one was still changing a law could ruin the spell's manifestation entirely.

That was precisely why Alon left a slight interval between phrases: to prevent those distortions from tangling up his spell.

Yet the duke before him completed his magic by reciting phrases so rapidly that he seemed to disregard that necessary interval altogether—as though denying the very drawback of using phrases.

In the fleeting moment Alon considered this, five spheres formed at the fingertips of the duke's outstretched right hand and shot toward him in spirals at point-blank range.

But—

"Freezing."

The instant the spell was fired, Alon uttered a phrase in conjunction with Bitter Cold, freezing the magic hurtling toward him.

"Acceleration."

He sent the frozen spell shooting back at the duke instead.

By then, however, Duke Comalon had already moved out of its range. The moment Alon realized the duke had shifted to the right, he formed another seal.

"Compression, Single Point, Mountain Uprooting."

"Fixation, Unfolding, Scattering."

As their spells manifested, phrases spilled from both men's mouths, twisting the laws.

And then—

BOOM!

Alon was the one flung back.

"Fixation."

Tumbling wildly across the ground, he manifested a spell in that split second and raised a shield. His tumbling body was forcibly brought to a halt.

But—

CRASH!

As though the duke had anticipated it, a spiraling ice spike shot toward Alon, piercing his shield without resistance and driving inward.

"!"

At the sight, Alon gritted his teeth.

####

KABOOOM!

After rolling across the ground, Alon quickly rose and looked at Duke Comalon. Unlike Alon, whose coat was already a mess, the duke looked utterly unconcerned.

Fifteen spell manifestations in all.

Of those fifteen, Alon had won only one exchange. Even that had merely grazed Duke Comalon's collar. His magic was effectively useless against the duke.

No, strictly speaking, it was not that his magic had no effect.

'... He manifests it far too quickly.'

Duke Comalon was simply too fast—so fast that looking one or two moves ahead would never be enough for Alon to win.

And that was not Alon's only disadvantage. The speed of their hand seals. The power of spells that were disproportionately strong for how quickly they were cast. The quantity of mana, which Alon still lacked despite its substantial increase. Even the ability to act with one more move in mind.

In every respect, the duke held an overwhelming advantage.

This could hardly even be called a fight.

Alon turned his eyes toward Basiliora and Seollang.

■■■■■■■■■■—!!!!

More than three artificial Outer Gods already lay as mangled corpses, but the battle there was still raging.

"You seem to be looking for help, but it is pointless."

As Alon watched Basiliora, Duke Comalon spoke calmly.

"You will die before they can come to your aid."

He formed a seal.

"Fixation, Unfolding, Scattering."

Five spheres formed at the fingertips of his outstretched right hand. But this time, he was not finished. The duke murmured once more.

"Dispersion."

The spheres at his fingertips instantly rose into the sky and began splitting apart.

From five to ten.

From ten to twenty.

From twenty to forty.

From forty to eighty.

Their numbers grew without end.

What emerged was a river of stars suspended in the ashen sky. Hundreds—perhaps thousands—of spheres illuminated it with dazzling radiance.

The sight was so overwhelming and majestic that even the soldiers watching the mythic battle in a daze turned their eyes toward it.

And then—

"Launch."

The moment Duke Comalon recited the final phrase, pronouncing Alon's end, the river of stars began to fall.

"—"

Thousands of brilliant stars plunged toward the earth, illuminating Alon's upturned face. It was an overwhelming sight, enough to make anyone unwittingly drop their weapon and accept death.

The mass of light converged upon a single target: Alon.

"No—!"

Watching it unfold, Philian shouted involuntarily. Yet Alon remained calm as he looked up at the falling stars.

In fact—

'Now.'

—he had been waiting for this moment.

"Acceleration."

With a deafening boom, his body shot forward in an instant. He had merely copied Duke Comalon's arrangement after glimpsing it for a moment, so the manifestation failed and exploded. But that was enough.

As long as it propelled him forward.

"!"

Alon looked at Duke Comalon. His face appeared devoid of even a fragment of emotion, but his widened eyes suggested at least a little surprise.

"Refraction."

Alon had begun waiting for this moment after manifesting his fifth spell. By then, he had already abandoned the idea of defeating the duke with magic.

The duke's magic clearly surpassed his own—no, surpassed magic itself.

"Repulsion."

So from that point onward, Alon had deliberately set the stage. He had not dodged attacks he could have avoided. He had not countered attacks he could have answered.

"Blue Light."

Keeping damage to a minimum, he had waited for the perfect moment.

For the duke to relax.

For him to let his guard down.

"Diffraction's—"

For the moment Alon could reveal his hidden move.

Behind Alon came the chilling sound of the falling stars gnawing away at the ground. At the same time, brilliant blue light blazed before his sealed hands.

And then—

"—Linear Form."

As the final words rang out, Alon flicked his finger toward Duke Comalon's startled face.

KABOOOOM!!!

The lightning shot forth at monstrous speed, reaching Duke Comalon in an instant.

But just as it was about to strike his heart—

"Acceleration."

Duke Comalon twisted sideways, narrowly evading the blue lightning.

BZZZT!

The spell skimmed past his side and vanished fruitlessly.

"Ah—"

Philian and the watching soldiers let out low cries. A trace of relief and elation entered Duke Comalon's impassive eyes.

A clear divide between joy and despair.

Yet Alon, who had been aiming for that final move, remained composed.

He had assumed from the beginning that Duke Comalon would dodge the spell.

"Whew—"

And he had prepared what came next.

BZZZT!

"!"

At the sound of electricity erupting, Duke Comalon looked behind him. There he saw two brilliant blue lights, shining more radiantly than anything else.

The duke's face contorted in incomprehension, but beneath his expressionless exterior, Alon smiled.

This was the final move he had prepared.

A unique trait obtainable upon reaching the fourth tier in Psychedelia. By preceding a spell with a spiral mana arrangement, the user could manifest magic exclusively in locations where traces of their own mana remained.

Multiple Manifestation.

"—!"

Seeing those lights, the duke twisted his body once more.

But the Clear Light had already been fired.

KABOOOOOM!

Once again, the ashen world was bathed in blue.